


Svechi

by hazelandglasz



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Hanukkah, Happy Birthday Victor Nikiforov, Headcanon, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: "We don't really celebrate Christmas"And what if Viktor said that because he *actually* doesn't celebrate Christmas, but Hanukkah?





	

**Author's Note:**

> It all started from a personal headcanon and then shit happened  
> So here it is, my first Yuri on Ice fic (completely seasonal)  
> Blame (or thank) @sunshunes and @cecisson over Tumblr for pushing me to write for this fandom (this is the first but probably not the last !!)  
> Come and tell me what you think over @hazelandglasz !

 

Growing up in St. Petersburg, Viktor didn’t always understand why his Matushka didn’t want him to talk about the things they did at home, the candles lighted on Friday nights in a room with no windows and the hushed discussions about “Refuzniks” and the “gulags”.

Quickly enough, as soon as Viktor shows that he’s almost more comfortable on ice than on solid ground, Matushka tells him that he has to stay with Uncle Yakov from now on.

Viktor doesn’t mind--he loves Uncle Yakov, for all of his gruffness and his severe looks.

Viktor knows better, even at the tender age of seven.

He knows that out of the ice, Yakov’s eyes can grow gentle; that his hands, so imposing when he uses then to cut the air to tell him to be sharper and stronger, give the best of hugs.

That his voice, so frightening when it echoes across the ice, is the softest when it says his name.

“Vitya …”

But Viktor is still mildly confused about why his birthday is always celebrated with his Matushka’s menorah and why he cannot see her any more.

More candles for him, he supposes, but when he turns ten, on his way to Canada for his first Worlds, and the number of candles remain the same, Yakov explains, in hushed whispers, why their faith has to remain private, if Viktor wants to become a proper athlete for the homeland.

Why Matushka left Russia the moment she found an opportunity, knowing that Viktor would be safe with Yakov and as an athlete.

_ Oh. Alright. _

“Merry Christmas!” people say, and Viktor learns to smile, and to add with a cheeky tilt of the head, “It’s also my birthday”.

He hears from his Matushka every now and then--she seems happy now that she doesn’t live in Russia, but Viktor can always feel his heart squeeze painfully in his chest when she has to hang up quickly, to make sure that  _ he  _ is safe.

Viktor’s status as skating legend slowly builds up, from the Juniors to the Seniors, from Grand Prix to Olympics, and each time, the same thought runs through Viktor’s head.

_ Keep it surprising so Matushka will know that this is for her. _

Each kiss to his medal is a kiss he sends to his mother, through the television screens.

And each Hanukkah candle is a reminder of why they don’t celebrate his birthday together.

And then, Yuuri Katsuki happened.

“Stammi vicino” was supposed to be a call to his mother, a declaration of heartache and a last call for his childhood.

But to see the Japanese skater perform it shakes Viktor to his core.

It’s not just the fact that he recognizes him as the man who bewitched him after the last Grand Prix (okay, it’s also because he recognizes him, and his cheeks heat up just thinking about it all over again), but also because he can see some of the feelings he poured into the performance etched on the man’s face.

Yu-uri.

If this man can understand his heartache, and missing someone like he’s missing a limb, and feeling like he’s not entirely himself because such a big part of who he is has to remain hidden, for his own safety (boy, if the Kremlin only knew …), then maybe--just, maybe--he is the breath of fresh air Viktor needs.

Besides, didn’t Viktor promise to be his coach if he won the dance-off, and even Yuri admitted his defeat.

Talk about a Hanukkah miracle.

“Vitya! Don’t go!”

Viktor stops in his tracks.

“Stay here!”

Viktor smiles at his coach, his uncle, his family beyond blood. “You were the best coach I could ever had,” he says, returning to Yakov.

“If you walk away now, you can never come back!”

Viktor looks at the shine in Yakov’s eyes, and he knows what he means.

Walking away from Russia, going to Japan, being close to the other male skater--it’s all a threat to the safe environment Yakov has spent his life building around Viktor and the other skaters in his care.

Though Viktor is the only one calling him “Uncle”.

Pulling him into a hug, Viktor can feel Yakov tensing up.

The clench of his jaw.

“Dasvidanya.”

The smallest of inhumane whimper that builds in Yakov’s throat when they part.

“Let me take you to the airport, Vityachka,” Yakov says with a shrug, picking up Viktor’s suitcase.

“... Alright.”

\---

**One year later**

It’s simultaneously jarring and comforting to be back in St Petersburg.

Viktor is at peace, though.

Because he’s back in his hometown, but experiences it through Yuuri’s eyes.

And like a lot of things regarding the Japanese skater, everything takes a different color through the prism of his love.

As the days up to Christmas shorten, Viktor wonders what their household will do.

Knowing Yuuri, his very own  _ zolotse _ will want to make sure that Viktor doesn’t feel eclipsed by Christmas in any way.

Viktor sighs, watching the fog that is his breath in the cold.

He’ll just light the menorah--after all this time, he still has it--afterwards, without making a big deal out of it.

But when he opens the door of their apartment--and the notion that it’s their to share, that Yuuri came to him in a perfect mirror of the way Viktor went to him, still sends his heart into a feverish rumba--Viktor is surprised by two things.

One, the vibrant light of the menorah completely lit up, next to the window (but with his curtains closed).

Two, the sweet smell of fried food still floating in the air.

“Happy Hanukkah, Vitya,” Yuuri says, tongue barely stumbling over the foreign words but wrapped tenderly around his name.

“What did you do, Yuurichka,” Viktor whispers, dropping his bag and coat on the floor, walking to Yuuri in a daze.

“Well, you told me that you don’t really celebrate Christmas,” Yuuri replies, cheeks pinkening slowly, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “And at first I just assumed that it was a Russian Christmas thing.”

“Hm-hm?”

“But then,” Yuuri continues, voice growing stronger as he looks up, “when I arrived here, and saw the books you keep in your room, and this candelabra, and a lot of details, I investigated a little.”

“You’re too smart for my own good,” Viktor says softly, brushing Yuuri’s hair out of his face.

It’s growing so much--soon, Viktor may be able to braid it.

Oh what a sight it will be.

It’s already quite a sight, mind you, when Yuuri hovers over him when they are in bed together, the dark strands framing his face and caressing Viktor’s cheeks …

“... -tya?”

Oops.

The smile on Yuuri’s face, half-smirk and half-fond, tells him that he’s been caught in his daydreaming.

Again.

“As I was saying,” Yuuri says, with just enough sass to get Viktor’s blood running, “I found out that you don’t celebrate Christmas, but something else.”

“Oh?”

_ Blya.* _

“And that it had to be kept private.”

“Really?”

_ Слава Богу!** _

“And I found out about Hanukkah.”

Viktor’s lips stretch into a smile, and he takes a step closer to Yuuri, pulling him towards him. “ _ Ha _ nukkah,” he repeats, insisting on the guttural pronunciation.

Yuuri’s eyes sparkle as he settles in Viktor’s embrace, and he repeats it softly. “Hanukkah.”

“Hm.”

“So I lighted the candles, and I made fried food--Yakov tried to tell me about the proper food, but I figured …”

Yuuri’s voice trails into nothingness, and Viktor frowns at him. “What is it,  _ Anata _ ?”

The pink covering Yuuri’s cheeks and nose darkens and he looks down at Viktor’s chest.

Like it always does when Viktor uses the Japanese word.

Nice to know he can still find ways of surprising Yuuri.

“I figured,” Yuuri starts again, eyes still focused on his hands splayed over Viktor’s chest, “since it’s  _ our  _ home now, that I could … bring a little bit of my culture into your tradition?”

Viktor’s heart makes all the quads in the world in the limits of his ribcage. “That is probably the sweetest thing you could imagine,” he says softly, lifting Yuuri’s face back to him to press a kiss to his lips. “Except  _ that _ , maybe.”

Yuuri leans forward, pressing another amused kiss to Viktor’s lips before pulling away. “Sooo,” he says, rushing to the kitchen and returning with a covered plate, “I made these. For--for you.”

As delicately as possible, Viktor takes the cloth away from the plate, revealing golden  [ pieces ](https://res.cloudinary.com/quintet/image/private/c_fill,g_south,h_1536,w_1536,cs_no_cmyk/gl8qgt6gmdg9iodjs66p.jpg) .

It looks fried, that’s for sure, but it’s not  _ sufganyot _ , that’s even more sure.

“Go on.”

Above the plate, Yuuri’s eyes are on him, a crooked smile on his face.

Viktor picks up one piece and plops it in his mouth.

Beyond the sweet texture of the fried dough, more sweetness explodes on his tongue.

“Vkusno!”

He immediately takes another one, not even minding that Yuuri is laughing delightedly, and bites into it. “You fried fruits?”

“I made a sweet tempura, yes.”

“That’s …,” Viktor starts, words blocked in his throat. “And you lighted the menorah.”

“Did I do it right?”

He didn’t, but Viktor is not about to tell him that.

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

Yuuri pulls his face down for another kiss. “And happy birthday, Vitya.”

“More?” Viktor teases, his hands splayed on the small of Yuuri’s back. “What could you possibly have gotten me?”

Out of his back pocket, Yuuri pulls a carefully wrapped  package. “I hope you’ll like them.”

Keeping an hand on Yuuri’s back, Viktor tears down the paper, revealing a pair of fingerless  [ gloves ](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/K9wAAOSwQM9UZQDd/s-l300.jpg) .

“It’s more of a present to me, really,” Yuuri says, taking one of them and sliding it on Viktor’s hand, “your hands are always so cold when you come back from the r-hmph!”

Cupping Yuuri’s cheek with his hand, Viktor pulls him into a long, dirty kiss, hoping it conveys all of his love for this man, his effort, his attentions.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he breathes, leaning his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“You were brave enough to come get me,” Yuuri whispers, snuggling against him. “Happy birthday and happy Hanukkah, Viktor.”

“Happy Hanukkah, Yuuri.”

“Borf!”

“Happy Hanukkah, Makkachin.”

**Author's Note:**

> * Shit  
> ** Thank God


End file.
